


Choices

by Rynfinity



Series: Out of the Mouths of Babes [16]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Bigotry & Prejudice, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t like to think like that, baby,” he says – gross understatement of the fucking century – wrapping his arms around Loki tightly.  “I want you to be okay, always.”</p><p>“But if I’m not,” his brother presses, wriggling, “I have to know I can depend on you."</p><p>  <b>WARNING: discussion of past self-injury</b></p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to Fears and will make the most sense read after its predecessors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious talk about serious things.

“More coffee,” Thor asks his brother as he gets slowly up from the chaise.

Loki hefts his own mug, peering into its depths. “Oh, yes, please.”

~

Saturday evening seems to have made Sunday morning a little… rough.

~

For starters, his brother is visibly uncomfortable. He hasn’t said a thing about it, true. Nonetheless it’s pretty much impossible to miss the way he’s walking carefully, to hide it. Or the way, in lieu of his usual flopping and slouching, he’s sitting – even on soft things, like chaise cushions – slowly and cautiously, lowering himself gingerly down with both hands. Thor assumes Loki’s jaw must hurt, too, but all they’ve done today is drink coffee; he can only guess the state of his brother’s mouth hasn’t really been tested.

Then, for his part, Thor is (feeling by turns guilty as fuck and embarrassingly proud of himself, and) yawning. He managed to pull one of the long muscles along his spine and, while it’s honestly (not to mention _fortunately; one_ of them has to be able to fetch the coffee) not feeling all that bad this morning, it woke him with what sure felt like every single toss or turn overnight.

He pads back out to the balcony with two brimming mugs, setting one down and passing the other to his brother. Loki grabs it with both hands. He smiles up at Thor and takes a delicate sip - _mmmm!_ \- before setting it carefully down on the far table.

“Jesus, Loki!” As his brother twists and shifts, the blanket with which he’s loosely wrapped himself falls open. True to form, he hasn’t bothered to get dressed. At all. 

Loki smirks, looking pointedly from Thor to his own naked crotch to the nearly-fresh semen stains gracing the balcony floor and railing. “You didn’t seem to mind looking at it yesterday evening.”

Oops. _I sure hope nobody was walking on the sidewalk below us last night._ Thor clears his throat. “I don’t mind looking at it now, trust me.” He doesn’t. “It’s more the idea of other people looking that I mind.”

“Who exactly is looking?” His brother cranes his neck, gazing up and down and around in wildly exaggerated fashion. “The birds? Oh, the old lady across the street with the binoculars? Or is it the pervert down the block, the one with the telescope? The one with the _night vision goggles,_ ” he continues, sounding way too much like teasing.

Thor fervently hopes his brother is making all that up. And just in case he is, Thor jabs him ungently in the ribs.

Loki squawks. “Oww, shit, don’t make me jump like that.”

“Feeling a little under the weather,” Thor asks, all false innocence, as he reaches over and tugs Loki’s blanket back into position. Into something at least approaching _decent_ , at any rate. At least for Loki.

His brother stretches catlike, groaning. “It seems my ass had a bit of a wild night last night,” he admits cheerfully, “not to mention my neck and, well,” – he works his lower jaw side to side, wincing – “a few other things.”

“Sorry about that,” Thor assures him, instantly rueful. Ashamed, really. Maybe he should just have let his brother howl, Steve be damned. “I didn’t me-.’

“Hush, you,” Loki orders, silencing Thor with fingers still a little warm from holding his coffee. “Don’t be sorry. I loved it. You were perfect.” His eyes are warm, too.

“You don’t mind that I hurt you,” Thor asks, tentative. “You did ask me not to, after all.”

“That’s not at all the kind of _hurting me_ I meant, silly,” Loki tells him, smiling. “That was fun. And hot. You weren’t trying to be mean or anything.” His brother’s fingers trace his lips; Thor kisses them. “I definitely want more of that. Lots more. Not right this second, though,” Loki amends, shifting carefully.

Thor smiles, too. He feels slightly better about things. “Maybe later.”

“Deal.” As Loki settles gently back into his own spot, blanket only barely covering his groin yet again, Thor finds himself looking at the scars along the pale underside of his left forearm; the words, the runes.

“How did it feel to do that,” he asks, gesturing to Loki’s arm. “Was it awful?”

“Not really,” Loki says, voice quieter now. He traces the scars lightly with his right middle finger. “It was what I needed, then. Plus, I very much wanted to convey a message. One I wasn’t good at saying, and you were worse at hearing.” He looks at Thor, eyebrows pinched together. “Does it bother you?”

“At the time,” Thor tells his brother, “I was mortified.” He’s not sure if he should go on. He doesn’t, opting to err – as usual – on the side of caution.

“And now,” Loki prompts, though.

“And now I love it, probably way more than I ought to. Seeing it turns me on, a little,” he confesses. “And touching it?” He shudders. “And _that_ … well, about that, I’m _still_ mortified.” Thor tries for a weak little smile; he still really can’t process this properly, even after so long. He normally does his best not to think about it; to simply enjoy the marks and leave it at that. “Next time, maybe you should just get a tattoo.”

Loki snorts, loudly. “Somehow I just don’t think that would have had the same impact.”

Thor shrugs, trying not to think about the blood and glass. “Probably not. But still!”

~

“Mac is almost old enough to go to a forever home,” Loki volunteers, out of nowhere, as he sautés shrimp in oil and garlic. “In fact, he could technically go now; we’ve just opted to keep him as long as possible since he got off to such a rough start in life.” He smiles. “Plus, when he does go, poor Marci will miss him terribly.”

Thor chops vegetables, thinking. He’s not exactly sure what he wants, not to mention what his brother wants him to say. They’ve just come from the shelter from playing with Mac, though, and he can’t deny it; while he’s very nervous about the implications of taking on a pet, the idea of _his kitten_ going home to live with someone else is… awfully distressing. He takes a deep breath, and another. “Do you want to adopt him, Loki?”

Loki visibly wilts, which isn’t at all what Thor expected. “I- I’m not sure,” his brother stammers softly. “Well, more to the point, I’m not sure _you’re_ sure, and I- I- well, I really need you to be.”

Thor doesn’t like the sound of that, not at all. He struggles to take another deep breath; he can feel his throat constricting. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot and-,” he starts to explain, but he _just can’t._ Not without knowing what’s going on. “Wait. What do you mean, baby?”

“Go ahead and finish what you were going to say, first,” Loki tells him, shaking the pan to flip the browning shrimp.

“Loki,” Thor complains, but he does as he’s told regardless. “I’m scared about it – I’ve never had a pet before, something that had to depend on me to stay alive,” (which is probably not a great thing to say, not to Loki, but it’s already out there so he just keeps going) “ – but I do want to adopt him. If you want to, of course,” he adds, because he doesn’t want to pressure his brother into something they shouldn’t do.

“Remember,” Loki warns, “ _forever home._ You can’t just give him back if you change your mind.” His voice is strained. Thor sets down the knife and wipes his hands on a towel, then lays a palm gently on the closest shoulder.

“I realize that. I get that part, I do.” He waits. There’s more, he just knows it.

“It’s really important,” his brother says with some force. “Because like it or not I may not always be- be well enough to take care of an animal. I need to know for absolute certain that, if I’m not, you will do it for me.” He blinks back tears. “Otherwise, it’s not right for me to adopt one. Not right for me, not fair to you. Or to Mac.” He twists to wipe his eyes on his shoulder, hair brushing – cool and a little tickly – across Thor’s hand.

_Oh. Fuck._

“I don’t like to think like that, baby,” he says – gross understatement of the fucking century – wrapping his arms around Loki tightly and sending the spatula clattering to the floor. “I want you to be okay, always.”

“But if I’m not,” his brother presses, wriggling, “I have to know I can depend on you to take good care of Mac.”

“I’ll do the very best I can,” he promises, testing out the brand new realization that he’s _probably just signed up for a kitten._ Because, scary or not, he does very much mean what he’s saying.

Loki snuffles. “I need to think about it some, okay?”

“Okay,” Thor agrees, kissing his brother’s cheek. “Maybe we should take Marci too,” he suggests, “so neither of them has to be lonely.”

“The shrimp are going to burn,” Loki grumbles, struggling against him. Reluctantly, Thor lets go; his brother retrieves the spatula, wipes it off, and resumes his sautéing without another word.

As Thor goes back to chopping the vegetables, he tests the concept again: _We’re going to get a kitten. And maybe a cat, too. A little pet family._

As long as he doesn’t think about how Loki _might not be okay,_ it doesn’t sound half bad, actually.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was bound to happen sooner or later.

The doorbell chimes. Thor and Loki exchange startled looks; Sif normally texts or calls before stopping over, especially this time of night.

Loki sighs. "I'll get it," he volunteers, standing and tugging his loose knit pants up a little. It's warm tonight; he hasn't bothered with a shirt. The doorbell chimes again, insistent, a double this time. Oh well; anyone showing up unannounced this late deserves an eyeful of Loki, bullet wounds and scars and all.

“Hello?” Loki opens the door a couple of inches, safety chain still engaged. Thor watches closely, half on alert already. Abruptly, his brother's whole demeanor changes.

It’s like ice water down his spine. Thor scrambles to his feet, but it's already too late.

"What the _fuck_ is going on here?" The sheer volume makes Thor's ears ring, even from several yards away.

To his credit, Loki doesn't so much as flinch. He draws himself up to his full height, resting his left arm - scars in plain view, easily readable, along the doorframe. "I'm fine, Odin. Thanks for asking," he offers false-brightly. "And how are you?"

" _Where_ is your brother," Odin bellows, slamming a hand against the door. The chain catches with a loud grinding noise.

"I'm right here," Thor says, stepping up behind Loki and resting a hand on his brother's hip. It's a struggle not to push Loki safely behind him. "To what do we owe the pleasure," he asks instead, doing his best to follow his brother's lead.

"I don't have time for any of this shit," Odin says, very loudly. "Not from either one of you. Now where is Sif?"

Loki rips the band-aid clean off, along with the hair and far more than a little skin: "I expect she's _in her apartment,_ considering the time. If you'd only called ahead we could have pulled together a welcoming com-."

"Shut. The fuck. Up," Odin orders, clipped and furious. Loki's mouth snaps closed. Thor can feel his brother vibrating beneath his palm, can see Loki's nostrils flaring. He gives a gentle warning squeeze.

"Thor," Odin says, voice quieter but still deadly, "where does Sif live?"

"Nearby," Thor says as flatly as he can. "If you have business with her, I can pass on your contact information." The last thing he needs is to have Odin pounding on _her_ door this late. Well, at all, really; she's taken one for the team far too many times already.

"So you're telling me she doesn't live here." Odin looks at them each in turn, then at Loki's scar, and finally at Thor's hand. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

Loki smiles, the kind of grin that says he may just kill something. "It would be awfully crowded if she did, don't you think? And I'm reasonably sure her boyfriend would _not_ approve."

Odin looks back up at their faces, one and then the other. His own face is so red it's almost purple. "What kind of sick fuck are you," he asks Loki.

"Don't," Thor warns. He means Loki, but Odin bristles.

"How dare you try and tell me what to do," he yells, at Thor this time. "You perverted cock-sucking liar."

"Beg pardon," Thor says, refusing to rise to- to any of it. It's just not worth it, and Loki needs him calm. Safe. "But I don't recall lying to you." There's nothing to be gained by tacking on _recently_ , so he doesn't.

"This," Odin growls, reaching in to catch Loki by the jaw, "doesn't look a whole lot like _moving here with Sif_."

Loki is as tense as a bowstring. "Get your hand off him," Thor demands, bringing his own up to grasp the edge of the door. He won't hesitate to break Odin's wrist, if that's what it comes down to. "Now."

Surprisingly, Odin does, although he shoves Loki's head back with enough force to clack his teeth together. Loki's pained little grunt just about does it, too; Thor has to shake his own head to clear away the _red_ closing in around the edges of his vision. "Consider this your first and last warning: If you touch him again, I'm calling the police." This time he does shift his brother behind him. Loki goes without protest, rubbing his jaw. “And that’s after I break your fucking arm. Is that clear?”

Odin roars, more or less. But he doesn’t actually _say_ anything, and he keeps his hands to himself.

_Deep breaths._ "For the record, I didn't lie, actually," Thor continues once Loki is safely out of reach and things have de-escalated slightly. "I - _we_ \- did move here with Sif. Yes, I let you take that information and draw the wrong conclusions but, hey, that's on you, isn't it?" He smirks. "Now, once again, to what do we owe the pleasure? As in," he clarifies, as coolly – as derisively – as he can, " _Why exactly are you here?_ Because it's getting rather late, and-."

"And what," Odin asks loudly, cutting him off. "You have that one's” – he angles his chin towards Loki – “low-rent skinny little ass to fuck?" He's right up against the door again, spit flying. "I expected more of you."

"Well, then," Thor says dryly, "I guess we're both disappointed."

~

It takes a long time, but Odin manages to more or less recover his composure. "Are you really going to make your own father," he complains in something much closer to a normal voice, "stand in the hall to talk when he's driven five hours to see you?"

Actually, Thor would just as soon his _own father_ wasn't anywhere on the premises. Anywhere in the state, even. He doesn't say that, but he thinks it. "You tell me: Can you act like a civilized adult," he asks Odin instead. "Because otherwise, I think you're in luck." He smiles, not nicely; his father looks momentarily puzzled. "Since we won't be _doing_ any more talking," he clarifies, "standing or otherwise."

Odin puffs up like an angry goose. "You really have some nerve, thinking you can order me around like this," he snaps. “You, of all people.”

Thor gropes behind himself for Loki's hand. "My house, my rules," he counters, with a half shrug. "I'm not ordering anyone around. I'm giving you a _choice_ ," he continues, hitting the word _choice_ hard. "It's wholly up to you whether or not you opt to take it."

Odin takes a deep breath and lets it out in a loud, angry-sounding rush. "Don't you have someplace you should be," he asks Loki, "Besides hiding your cowardly little faggot self behind your brother."

Thor gently squeezes Loki's fingers, silently willing his brother not to take the bait. Not to stoop to Odin's level.

"Loki lives here," he says, bluntly. "This is his home." He shifts his weight, bringing his thumb out of the door's swing path. "Look," he says, "it's getting late. I'm tired; I'm sure Loki's tired." He turns just enough to catch his brother's nod, then looks back at Odin. "And we have _places we should be_ in the morning. So?" He starts to push the door slowly closed.

His father shoves a work-boot-clad foot into the opening. "I'll do my best to be civil," Odin concedes. "That is, I will, providing _that_ goes and puts a shirt on,” he adds, nodding towards Loki.

"You're not off to the best of starts, honestly," Thor observes, nastily. He needs this shit like another head.

"It's fine," Loki says, stretching forward to kiss Thor's cheek. "Let him in. I'll go change." He gives Thor's fingers a quick squeeze; just like that, he’s gone.

Thor sighs. "Don't make me regret this," he tells his father. "And move your goddamned foot, so I can unhook the chain."

~

"May I have a drink," Odin asks, from his perch on - in, really - one of the large chairs, and then makes a strangled choking noise.

Thor twists to look, following the direction of his father's wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare.

_Ah._

"Hi, baby," he tells his brother, who has _changed,_ alright... into painted-on dark green leather pants and a thin, delicate gold mesh tank top that's hanging way off one shoulder. _Way off_ as in _here, have a bullet wound, a nice purple bite mark, and a nipple_ , thank you very little. He’s finished the whole ensemble with chunky-soled boots, also dark green. They’re just a little too close to the ones from _that dream_ for comfort. Still, he looks perfectly trashy-hot.

Thor shoots Loki a jagged little smile and then turns back to face his father. "We have water, juice, and ginger ale. What'll it be," he asks Odin, wiping his palms on his jeans.

Odin pulls himself together with near-palpable effort. He clears his throat. "Nothing stronger?"

Thor bites back a strained laugh. He shakes his head. "We aren't drinking these days," he explains. No apologies. "Can I get you something?"

“Ginger ale,” Odin says, finally. He doesn’t sound particularly pleased.

~

“So,” Thor says as he settles on the sofa and lays a hand on Loki’s warm, sharp, leather-clad knee. “You wanted to talk?” He gestures _get on with it._ “Talk.”

Odin takes a long pull of his ginger ale. “I only want you to come back home,” he entreats, “and not throw your life away in this backwater with- with this worthless piece of shit. I can’t-,” he says, and then stops, expression beyond disgusted. “You look like a streetwalker,” he accuses, looking at Loki.

“Fancy that,” Loki says.

“ _This_ is my home,” Thor cuts in, repeating himself yet again, as calmly as he can. “My friends are here; my life is here. I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes Loki’s knee lightly.

“He must be pretty damned good with that dirty little mouth of his,” Odin offers, “if you’re willing to give everything you ever had away for it.” He takes another big gulp of ginger ale. “I _told_ your mother I should have left the little wretch for dead from the very beginning.”

No more. _Not another fucking word._

Thor surges to his feet, barely even hearing Loki’s pleading _don’t_ behind him.

He yanks Odin’s glass away, ginger ale slopping over both their hands and onto the hardwood floor below. “That’s _it,_ ” he snarls through clenched teeth. “We’re done here. Now get the fuck out of my house before I-.” He crowds into his father’s space, looming over the chair dangerously.

“Stop, baby!” Loki catches him by the arm and pulls him back with surprising strength.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, you little whore,” Odin growls, pushing himself up from the chair with both hands, heavily. “Your _brother_ is right. We’re done here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fallout... and it's not pretty.
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNING:** References to self-harm, not graphic.

"You okay, baby?" Thor looks over at the couch; Loki is slumped in the corner, fingers splayed wide, closely studying his black polished nails. Thor's own ears are still ringing, whether from the stress of it all or the crash of the door slamming he’s not sure. Both, maybe. It hasn’t been a banner evening. "Loki?"

"Mm," his brother hums, quietly. It may well be the least committal noise Thor’s ever heard Loki make.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, then, Thor finds himself feeling quite a bit short of _reassured._

"Well," he says, after a long couple of moments, pretty much to himself. He needs to fill the crushing silence somehow. "Um. I really like those pants," he offers after yet another too-long pause. That? That, he very much means. "They look fantastic on you." And how. He thinks back to the way they felt beneath his fingers earlier, warm and tight across the bony prominence of Loki's knee.

"I look like a whore," his brother says, voice completely - scarily - toneless. "You heard the man," Loki adds when Thor is too startled to argue.

"No!” This time, he gets it together enough to respond immediately. "You look like my lover, in perfect green leather pants." He wants to feel the smooth surface again, badly.

Far more than he wants that, though, he _doesn't_ want to set Loki off.

He keeps his distance.

"Same difference," his brother says flatly. "Same shit, different day."

"Odin's managed to be wrong about an awful lot," Thor reminds him. "More than he's right about, really."

"And you're sure about that," Loki says. It isn't phrased or delivered like a question.

"Perfectly sure," he answers anyway. "Dead. Fucking. Certain."

~

Ultimately he does get to touch the pants again. Not until after he divests Loki of the delicate, silken mesh tank, though - he expressly _does not_ feel up to damaging fragile, beautiful things just now.

Not even with permission, if that’s what this deafening silence amounts to.

The leather is warm and perfect, stretching taught over the lean muscles and fine-chiseled bone structure of his brother's slim hips and gorgeous legs. The pants peel off _exactly right,_ too, when Thor kneels to nuzzle and kiss Loki's cock erect and then takes it in his mouth.

_Any other time, the whole experience would be fucking amazing._

Loki fists both hands in Thor's hair, body responding just like always, but he's still eerily blank and all but silent. Nothing changes, not even towards the end, when he ejaculates in Thor's mouth and then just stands there as the spasms give way to rigid stillness.

The worst of it, though, comes when Thor wipes his own mouth and gets carefully - a little unsteadily, heart racing now and not just from sex - to his feet. Rather than letting him kiss or hug, Loki shrugs Thor off and instead drops quickly and hard to kneeling.

He unbuttons Thor's fly, fingers flying over the buttons, and just as quickly angles his head to take Thor all the way down.

The whole time – the whole, businesslike, professional time – Loki looks up at Thor. His eyes water, sure, and he blinks slowly on occasion, but through it all he keeps his gaze fixed on Thor’s face.

At least, that's how it works out for as long as Thor is able to tolerate watching. Being watched. After a couple minutes too long of looking down into those twin pools of _blank, dead nothing_ , he has to shut his own eyes and turn his head away.

What his brother does to him must feel good to his body. At least, it's effective; when Loki pulls off at the last second - the sudden loss shock enough that Thor’s head snaps back around as his eyes fly open – and lets his strong fingers pick up the slack, Thor pumps his entire load onto his brother's upturned face.

He wouldn't know, though, because all his _mind_ feels is sick and dirty.

Thor drops to his own knees once again, ignoring the sting and burn – the _bruise_ of it - as he hits the floor, and pulls Loki close. Loki doesn't fight the embrace - he sags limp against Thor's shoulder, smearing saliva and semen everywhere - but he doesn't return it, either.

Not even when Thor clings to him desperately.

Not even when Thor breaks down and cries.

~

Every time the phone rings, most of the day, Thor’s whole body seizes up in a giant knot of panic. And then he’s wrong: it’s just a customer, or a colleague, and he’s left struggling to explain – to _lie_ \- his awkward breathless misery away.

“Sorry, a little water down the wrong pipe there.”

“Hang on, you caught me with my mouth full. Just a second.”

“Maybe it’s your phone? Everything sounds fine on my end.”

“Yeah, I don’t know; maybe I’m coming down with something. There’s quite a cold going around. What’s that? Oh, thanks, I hope not too.”

~

It’s the same thing, over and over.

By the time the call finally _does_ come, late in the afternoon, he’s somehow managed to convince himself _it isn’t coming after all._

Yet again, he’s wrong.

~

_Mr. Odinson?_ He recognizes her voice but can’t place it immediately; it’s not until she’s several more words into introducing herself that it hits him. _Shit._ She’s Loki’s care coordinator.

“Oh, hi. I’m sorry,” he says for the umpteenth time today. Except this time he _is_ sorry. “It took me a minute to place your voice. What can I do for you?”

_We’re sending your partner over to Memorial by ambulance,_ she says briskly, and the room starts to spin. _You don’t need to head over right away,_ she continues, _but do you think you can make yourself available in an hour or two?_

“Of course,” he says, tightly. He’s going to lose his entire life’s worth of shit if he’s not careful. “What happened?”

_He’s going to be okay,_ is all she says. _They’ll give you more information when you get to the emergency room. And Mr. Odinson?_

“Just Thor is fine,” he says, because he can’t think well enough at this particular moment to come up with anything better.

_Thor, then,_ she offers. _Drive safely. There really isn’t any need to hurry._

Yeah, right.

He has a million and one questions but she won’t answer anyway. He doesn’t bother asking

For the longest time after she ends the call, he just sits there staring blankly at the phone in his hand.

~

Sif can’t meet him at the hospital until later in the evening.

He somehow manages to drive himself over there without hitting anything anyway.

~

“I’m here to see Loki Odinson,” he says to the pretty, albeit harried-looking, woman at the desk. “I’m Thor.”

“Ah, yes.” She doesn’t quite give away her reaction, whatever it might be, but he gets the strong feeling she’d be happy to. “Have a seat in there,” she tells him, pointing to a doorway across the hall - _Quiet Room,_ the sign reads, and that can’t mean anything good – “and someone will be in to speak with you shortly.

~

_Shortly_ turns out to be more like an hour, by which time he is absolutely fucking beside himself. And from the look on the man’s face – his nametag says he’s Phil, a PA in the psychiatric emergency unit – it’s obvious, too.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long, Mr. Odinson,” he says nicely after they get the hand-shaking out of the way. “We’re extremely busy today. It’s almost like it’s a full moon. A little medical humor there,” he explains when Thor doesn’t smile. “Anyway. Did anyone bring you up to speed?”

“No,” he says shortly. _And I’m pretty fucking sick of waiting,_ he carefully doesn’t add, even though he’d really, really like to, because it’s not this _Phil the PA’s_ fault. That, and because being an asshole will get him nowhere.

He’s already nowhere; it’s not anyplace he’s interested in staying.

“Your- partner, right?” – Thor nods – “your partner,” Phil says more confidently, “Loki, cut himself at day treatment. No, no, nothing like that,” he assures as Thor surges forwards half out of the chair. “It’s pretty minor. We’re just holding him here for evaluation,” he adds, even though he’s lost Thor way back around _minor_ somewhere. “I’m not sure we will end up needing to hospitalize him, but it’s too soon to know for certain.”

“Can I see him,” Thor asks, when Phil stops talking. “I really need to see him.”

~

It’s not easy.

Loki’s hospital gown, garish pink under the fluorescent lights, threatens to swallow him whole. He’s seriously swimming in it. He has huge dark circles under his big, startled eyes, and his hair is a messy black mop.

The worst of it, though – worse than the gauze wrapping his left arm just above the elbow, worse than the bruises and the dried blood not cleaned completely off his pale skin – is the heavy, leather restraints with their worn padded linings holding Loki’s slender wrists and ankles tight to the bed.

Thor swallows, twice, and coughs. “Hi, baby,” he says weakly, touching the back of his brother’s hand.

Loki doesn’t pull away. Not that he could, but he doesn’t try. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, and Thor may just cry… yet again. “I guess I wasn’t okay after all.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor tries to make up a little lost ground.

"Is he okay," Sif asks, voice strained, her tired face pinched with concern. She came straight over to the hospital from work; Steve isn't with her. _It would probably be kind of awkward for him anyway,_ Thor thinks. Knowing someone goes crazy, on a purely conceptual level, is light years away from actually seeing it happen.

Not like he can say that from experience or anything.

"He's been better," Thor admits. "Worse, too," he hastens to clarify as she looks abruptly _worried_ , "but certainly better. He's lucid and talking but he- he looks pretty freaked." Thor swallows, brought up short by the images in his own head. "And I suspect it was a bit more touch and go earlier. They've got him in four-points." He shifts, yet again... the waiting room chairs are anything but comfortable. Still, it feels good to tell someone. He’s really glad she’s here.

Sif looks around, grimacing at the overcrowding. It’s not a large space. There are people on pretty much every available surface. Thor had offered her his chair, but she'd elected to perch on the little magazine table instead. It’s not the fancy facility they’re used to, for sure. "Are they going to hold him for observation, then?"

He shrugs. "The PA told me they were still evaluating." He thinks back to the earlier conversation. "It sounds like they are leaning towards releasing him. Hopefully," he tacks on, because he really, really, _really_ doesn't want to leave his brother in this place. "So, for now, here I am… waiting."

The staff hasn’t let him in to see Loki, not since that one brief initial visit. Since then, in fact, it's been nothing but endless radio silence. Thor certainly doesn't want to do anything to impede progress or to hurt his brother's chances at a quick recovery, but the thought of Loki pinned to the bed in there alone makes him sad.

Terribly sad. He shivers.

"So, what happened," Sif asks quietly. "Or don't you even know?"

 _Oh, he knows alright_. Thor stands, stretching. "Let's take a little walk outside. They have my cell number," he assures her, "if something comes up in the next few minutes." It’s probably himself he’s playing at reassuring anyway. He’s stuck somewhere in the middle ground between feeling responsible and _being_ responsible and it’s a bleak, ugly place.

"Good idea," she says, standing herself and looking around, giving the packed room one last once-over. And if she’s just humoring him, she doesn’t show it. "Talk about ten pounds of- well, you know," she gives up, smiling. "After you."

~

It's much nicer outside, even now that night has largely fallen. To the west Thor can just make out the last fading bits of what must have been a pretty sunset; above the hospital, though, the sky is all but black. He honestly hadn't quite realized how late it was getting.

They take up a post curbside, a little away from the chaos.

"Odin stopped by last night," he says, without preamble.

" _Stopped by_ ," she repeats, eyebrows up, "as in _drove all the way from home just to fuck with your heads? That_ kind of stopping by?"

He nods. "Pretty much. The doorbell rang and there he was."

"So you had no idea he was even in town?"

"Nope." He shrugs. "Total surprise, and not the least bit like christmas."

Sif doesn’t even crack the tiniest smile at that. "And Loki was there," she confirms, face stony.

 _And how._ "He answered the door. Shirtless." Thor snorts. "He rocked it, actually. I'm so proud of him." He needs to tell Loki that, as soon as they're out of here. "But Odin was pretty- well, he was a major dick. I guess the whole thing took a lot out of my brother. Out of both of us," he amends, because he's actually feeling a whole lot like ass himself (or would be, if he let himself notice; he’s trying not to). "But it must have been more than Loki was up for right now, from the looks of things." He gestures at their surroundings; the ambulances, the big glass doors, the lone smoker across the loop sucking down one cigarette after another faster than Thor thought was humanly possible.

Sif scuffs her shoe in the dirt collected along the curb. "He seemed okay last night?" Another scuff. “After Odin left, I mean.”

_Awkward._

"Not really," he confesses. "We- um- we _did some stuff_ later on and Loki was- distant?" He stops to think about it, which is a mistake. "Blank. Not all there." He focuses on Sif's moving foot. "It was- uncomfortable, I guess." _Fucking horrible, more like. Deep breath,_ he reminds himself. "Afterwards I kind of felt like we probably shouldn't- well, we shouldn't have." Even in the lights from the ambulance entrance he must be so red his face is fucking glowing. "I've been thinking about it a lot today. I just hope- I hope I didn't land him here."

She reaches up and gives his shoulder a quick squeeze. "Hey, are _you_ okay," she asks him, studying his face closely.

He's not, come to mention it, but he needs to be strong for Loki. "I'll live," he tells her, with a half-hearted shrug.

~

"Survey says?" His brother is sitting up this time, pale legs jutting out from under the pink gown and dangling off the side of the bed. The restraints are, thankfully, nowhere in sight. Judging by how red the skin – wrists and ankles, both – is even now, though, the beastly things have left quite a lasting reminder.

"Apparently I am indeed still crazy," Loki says, with a faintly chilly smirk that's utterly devoid of anything the least bit amused-looking, "in case you were harboring any secret doubts. But, I’m not crazy enough to keep any longer against my will." He shrugs, wincing a little as his injured arm comes up. "They would love to have me spend a day or two in their - doubtless palatial - inpatient unit, they tell me, as they've tweaked my meds and could monitor me best there. However," he continues, with a little less sarcasm, "they do assure me the choice is mine."

"And," Thor prompts when his brother just sits there without saying anything further, swinging heels thudding softly against the bed's mechanics. He doesn't want to presume.

Loki looks at the floor, then back to Thor's face. " _And_ I would really prefer to go home with you, if you'll have me. They can monitor my response to the regimen change," he explains quickly without giving Thor time to utter a single word, "at the center, tomorrow."

Thor lets out the breath he's been holding in a noisy, open-mouthed _whew._ "Oh god yes," he pretty much gushes - any other time he'd be embarrassed, but just now he can't even be bothered caring - "I would very, very much like to have you home. With me," he emphasizes, in case that's somehow not obvious. "And I will- um- be more considerate of your-," he struggles along, trying and failing to find the right words. _Fuck it_. "I'll take better care of you this time."

Loki half-smiles. "Were you always so eloquent in court, baby?"

"You know what I mean," Thor protests, silently beseeching. _Please don't make me spell it all out for you. Please._

His brother slides off the bed and stands, pink-slipper-socked feet silent on the linoleum. He reaches out to cup Thor's scruffy cheek. "It's fine. I was pretty fucking shot just then. I'm sure I was sending out mixed signals," he adds, running his thumb along Thor’s jaw, “to put it nicely.”

 _Not nearly mixed enough,_ Thor thinks. He feels a little sick just looking back to yesterday evening. And it’s not solely the Odin pieces, either. "May I hug you," he asks. He can’t _take_ ; he really can’t. Not today.

“Please,” Loki says, though, so Thor does.

~

“Ahem.” They both jump when, from the doorway, Phil clears his throat politely. A second or two too late, Thor realizes he has a hand under the hideously ugly gown and on his brother’s warm skin. He moves it, so quickly he almost loses his own balance, and hastily straightens the pink fabric. 

“Sorry. These things don’t cover much,” he tells the PA, feeling ridiculous. Like he’s fifteen again.

Phil gives them what must pass for a smile, in Phil World. “They don’t,” he agrees. “Loki,” he says to Thor’s giggling brother, “have you decided what you would like to do?”

“I’d like to go home,” Loki says without the slightest hesitation. “Thor can keep an eye on me, and our neighbor- she knows what to do, if something goes wrong.”

“She’s out in the hall,” Thor offers, helpfully.

“Right out in the hall,” Sif says cheerily, just outside the door.

It’s Phil’s turn to jump, evidently.

~

Like everything else in their screwed-up lives, the whole thing is easier said than done.

They get home okay, after Thor sends Sif ahead (to make absolutely certain they don’t have any unwelcome visitors this time, because _that_ they surely couldn’t handle). It’s only once they’re safely inside, locks locked and chains latched and Steve on high alert in case someone rings the doorbell, that Thor realizes he really has no idea what to say. Or do. Hands in his pockets, he finally goes for the obvious: “Are you hungry?” It’s pretty late for dinner, but he hasn’t had any. So, there’s that.

Loki hugs himself tightly. Either his arm is not too bad, or he’s beyond caring. Thor isn’t sure he wants to know which explanation applies.

“Kind of,” his brother says.

Neither one of them moves.

They’re not up to it. In fact, they’re not up to anything. In the end, they curl up together on the sofa, with something mindless on the TV, and take turns feeding each other almond butter straight out of the jar.

“I love you, baby,” Thor says into Loki’s tangled hair when they’re done. The mostly-empty jar is on the floor, spoons and all, and his brother is snuggled warm against his chest.

Snoring lightly.

Thor powers the TV off and sets the remote down on the couch arm, careful not to jostle Loki. He can’t quite reach the light, but he’s able to snag a corner of the afghan and drag it over them both one-handed.

He knows his back is going to hurt something fierce in the morning.

He doesn’t give a shit, though; Loki is home.

Loki _chose_ to come home. That’s what matters.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor, as usual, worries.

The very next morning, on nothing remotely approaching a decent night’s sleep, Loki drags himself up off the sofa with visibly steely resolve and plants a wet (if distracted-seeming) kiss on Thor’s forehead. Not more than a few minutes later, while Thor himself is still struggling to wake up completely, his brother is already washed up and gone… headed straight off – doctor’s note in hand and long sleeves covering the evidence – to day treatment.

Loki’s miraculous recovery feels a little too good to be true, and that makes Thor nervous. There isn’t much he can do about it, though, save reminding himself sternly that his brother will at least be semi-supervised.

And he can call over there at lunch and see how things are going.

He does _not_ need to rush over there on his way to work and stick a wrench in things.

~

By the time he gets himself to work, though, – apparently he doesn’t have Loki’s boundless energy today, or at least his brother’s capacity for rushing – Thor’s hands are shaking. The headache that’s been lurking just out of range descends in full force, leaving him drained and queasy.

At 10:00 AM he concedes defeat. He pushes up from his desk, feeling a little too much like his fa- _like Odin_ for his own liking just now, and carefully shuts his office door.

He has good timing; it’s less than half an hour before his therapist returns Thor’s voicemail.

 _Walk me through what happened,_ the social worker requests, _if you don’t mind._

Thor doesn’t; it’s an easier place to start than with his own feelings. Which, of course, is probably precisely why his therapist suggested it to begin with. Not the man’s first rodeo and all that.

“Sure,” he says, trying to sound- well, anything other than like he’s coming unglued. “Loki and I had a little run-in with Odin the other night. Life’s been so crazy since then that I haven’t had time to call you about it.” He’s not sure why he’s making excuses to the guy; it’s not like the therapist has ever been even the least bit judgmental. Still, somewhere in all this Thor feels like he fucked up big time. “Anyway, it went okay. At least, I thought it did. But then yesterday at day treatment Loki-“ – it’s hard to get this part out, really hard – “he cut himself again.” He pauses there. For whatever weird reason, considering he’s just sitting at his stupid desk, he needs to catch his breath.

 _Is your brother okay,_ the social worker asks him. Thor can hear the warm concern in the man’s voice, can picture his therapist’s unruly hair and worried face.

“Yes,” he says, after considering the question for a minute. “I think so. He didn’t do much real damage. At the emergency room they ultimately decided he wasn’t- wasn’t unstable enough to require- for them to commit him.” He takes a deep breath and swallows loudly. “Loki went right back to the center this morning, like nothing had ever happened.”

That’s not quite true – his brother did take along his permission slip, like the world’s largest grade school student, and he did wear long sleeves despite the weather – but it’s close enough. And it’s bothering him. “I- after the past couple of days his bouncing back so quickly just feels- it- oh, I don’t fucking know,” he admits. “It just doesn’t feel real somehow.” That’s pretty much the bottom line; Thor feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. On his head.

 _And are YOU okay,_ the therapist asks. _Because all of that sounds like quite a lot to deal with, especially given your own struggles with your father._

“Please don’t call him that,” Thor blurts out, and then – almost as quickly – “I’m sorry.”

 _Don’t be,_ his therapist assures him. _We’ll just use his name if that’s more comfortable for you._

It is. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it is. “The idea of being related to him isn’t sitting well with me just now.” He laughs, a sarcastic little snicker that would normally be more at home in his brother’s mouth. “I’m not sure whether or not I’m okay, actually,” he confesses. “I don’t feel great, for sure, but I need to be strong for Loki.”

 _I do appreciate where you’re coming from,_ the therapist acknowledges, _but Loki sounds like he’s doing a decent job of being strong for himself just now._ When Thor says nothing, he goes on: _And remember; it’s really never wrong to take care of yourself, if you need to._

Just like that, with no warning, Thor finds himself crying. “I’ve taken care of him for so long,” he says, wiping his eyes on his the back of his hand. “Well, I mean, I’ve tried to, at least,” he corrects himself, because it’s really only recently that he’s finally gotten halfway decent at it, “that I don’t know how to let him take care of me.”

 _It’s not an easy adjustment,_ his therapist agrees. _But, like anything else, with practice it will become more and more natural. Now, if you’re comfortable doing so, why don’t you tell me a little more about what happened with Odin,_ he suggests. _Did he call you again?_

Thor snuffles. “Sorry. If only,” he says, with feeling. “No, he showed up. At the apartment,” he clarifies. “No calling, no warning, nothing. Just Odin, on the doorstep. Surprise!”

 _Wow, that’s ballsy,_ the social worker says, sounding- impressed, Thor supposes.

“It gets better,” he points out, because in a sense it does. “Loki answered the door. In just the baggy pants he sleeps in.” He laughs, a little. “I guess you could say all our secrets are out in the open now.”

 _Oh, right,_ his therapists agrees. _His marks. The whole loving Thor business. How did you feel about it?_

“Not as bad as I might have expected, actually,” Thor says, thinking back to the way he and Loki had both behaved the other night. Would have expected, really. “I was probably more possessive than embarrassed. I- I didn’t even care what Odin thought.” He still doesn’t, truth be told. “I just wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt my brother.”

 _Did he try to,_ the social worker asks, sounding a bit concerned again.

Thor nods at nothing. Right, the phone. “Kind of,” he confirms, out loud this time. “He grabbed at him. Grabbed him by the jaw, and you know that has- has implications for the two of us. For Loki, for me.”

_And you stayed in control?_

“I did,” Thor responds, more than a little proudly. “And when things got really ugly later on, I just asked him to leave.” Okay, that’s not quite how it went. “Um, I did almost lose it then, though. Loki stopped me.”

 _I’m so pleased for both of you,_ the therapist tells him, sounding it. _You make a damned good team these days._

“Thanks,” Thor says, feeling a little embarrassed about his cheering squad of one. “I hope we do. I really want us to.”

~

He opens his door and does a good solid block of actual work, partly because he knows he’s supposed to and partly to make lunchtime feel as though it’s arriving faster. As soon as his colleagues head off to lunch, though, Thor bolts for the front door with cellphone in hand.

“Hi, this is Thor- Thor Odinson,” he tells the center’s receptionist. She gives him a cheerful _hello_ , which he takes as a good sign. And she puts him on hold for Loki’s care coordinator, right away.

Which at least means Loki has made it through the morning intact, he hopes.

All the same, as soon as she comes on the line, Thor blows past the pleasantries and gets straight to the point. “Is my- my partner okay today?” And then he cringes, glad she can’t see him.

 _Loki seems much better today. He’s a strong person, you know,_ she points out.

“He is,” Thor agrees. “I just worry.”

 _Of course you do,_ she says. _He means a lot to you._

“Oh, yes,” Thor tells her, even though it didn’t really sound like she was expecting confirmation. He can feel the jittery start of an adrenaline hangover building. “Can you let him know I asked after him?”

 _I’d be happy to,_ she says. _Will that be all, then?_

It probably should be, but it isn’t. “Um,” Thor starts, wondering whether he’ll ever get his courtroom game back. “Will he- does he- can he still volunteer?” He’s been worrying about that pretty much nonstop since- since just after he found out Loki wasn’t badly hurt.

 _Certainly,_ she assures him. _They’ve already called to ask him if he will be taking his shift this evening._

“And,” Thor prompts. If Odin has messed things up with Loki and the cats, all bets are fucking off.

 _Oh, sorry,_ she says, no doubt reacting to his abrupt shift in tone. _He’s planning to go over there, right on schedule._

Thor breathes out a quick sigh of relief. “Tell him I’ll see him there, then, normal time.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _On the same page_ doesn't have to mean _after the page is ripped and crumpled._

The cats are awesome. Just what he needs. Thor stands in the middle of the enclosure, not giving even half a shit about the ridiculous grin he just _knows_ he's wearing, flipping the much-loved mylar toy back and forth with cheerful abandon. He's playing with both Mac and Marci this time and, while she's undeniably _fat and lazy_ compared to the spastic orange kitten, Thor has managed to get the big black lump briefly airborne more than once so far.

While he’s set a personal goal of five times, he’s not sure she’s going to cooperate. Cats and all that.

He doesn't stop until both animals have called it quits and his own arm is sore. At that point he flops face-up on the enclosure carpet, kids-playing-shooting-games fake-dead style, and lets the two furry critters climb all over him.

Well, _Mac_ does the climbing, scampering about in a highly tickly attempt to scale Thor Mountain. Marci takes the more purposeful, less athletic approach; she settles down between Thor's knees, pushing his legs apart with surprising persistence, and promptly curls into a ball to nap.

"Awww," the vet tech student says. "She's using your calf for a pillow.” Thor can't angle up enough to see without dislodging Mac, so he passes the kid his phone and ends up with a string of what - on first quick viewing, at least - look to be disgustingly adorable pictures.

It’s not much longer before the little guy wears out too. Mac opts to nest instead in Thor's right armpit, prickly little kitten claws digging (left, right, left; right) rhythmically into the muscles along his ribs… which means another round of silly pictures, of course, and a short bit of video footage. After the kid hands back his phone, Thor lets his own head loll to the side and spends some quiet time watching Loki.

His brother is still in long sleeves - pushed to the elbows - and is unobtrusively favoring his injured arm. That, and he's too quiet; too _muted_. To the casual observer he's just a slender, good-looking guy focusing on the task at hand.

Thor, though, is not a casual observer.

They need to talk later. Carefully, gently. In a supportive manner; no accusing, no blaming, no veiled threats, no fighting.

He sighs quietly to himself, making sure not to jostle the purring kitten. Historically, he’s all too aware, that kind of conversation has not been something they’ve been particularly good at navigating. Especially not when they’re both stressed. 

In fact, it would not be unfair to say they’ve been singularly _bad_ at it, really. _Especially when they are both stressed._

But today Thor feels- well, _bolstered_ is probably the best way to describe it. He feels _bolstered_ by the impromptu morning therapy session, and by the kittens. Even by seeing Loki back here working, doing his best to act like nothing has gone wrong. Maybe they can actually get talking right for a change.

And then, when they’ve gotten past the worst of it, Thor very much hopes he can convince his brother to volunteer for a backrub. Loki found some cinnamon-chocolate scented oil at a little natural foods place near this shelter about a week ago – apparently Darcy had recommended it when Loki’d mentioned how much his partner loved things that smelled tasty; maybe, Thor finds himself having to concede, he judged Darcy just a little too hastily - and they’ve both been dying to give it a test drive ever since.

Well, right up until Odin had showed up and put his smelly old foot in things, anyway.

Since then, Thor's just been treading water, barely keeping his head above the waves. There hasn’t been any energy left for the pleasant things in life.

It sucks, pure and simple, and he’s ready to be through with it.

~

“Pierogies,” Loki says, firmly, when Thor inquires about dinner. “With onions. Butter and onions. You know, _diet pierogies._ ” Just then Loki _laughs,_ and Thor thinks he’s going to start crying again right here in the car. Because Loki actually sounds happy, at least right this moment, and Thor’s been secretly terrified that Odin’s harsh words had somehow crushed all the happiness clean out of his brother.

He bites the inside of his own cheek and looks up at the roof liner until the traffic light changes; by then, he has himself mostly back under control. “You know I’ll never turn down good pierogies,” he tells Loki, smiling, voice only a little wobbly.

Loki leans across the center console to rest his head on Thor’s shoulder. “Mm,” he hums. “That’s precisely what I was counting on.”

~

Their Polish takeout is, as always, heavenly. They take turns feeding one another big, oniony, slippery bites, perched side-by-side on the kitchen island. It’s more sweet than lascivious, which is fine with Thor – he still wants to offer that backrub – although when they get to kissing afterwards, plates and foam containers pushed messily aside, he’s not the least bit sure he can keep it that way.

~

“Baby,” he tries, lips still sliding over Loki’s buttery mouth. “How are you doing?” He carefully doesn’t add _really,_ (partly because his own mouth is suddenly full of Loki’s warm tongue, but mostly) because he doesn’t want to seem- pushy? Untrusting? Something like that. Basically, he wants the question to feel natural.

“Mm,” Loki hums again, lips vibrating faintly, and then pauses. Or stops. Thor is about ready to settle for _disappointment_ when his brother pulls away just a little, hand still on his thigh.

“I’m okay,” he says, watching Thor’s face closely. “Really.” The corners of his mouth quirk up, just a little. “Going head to head with Odin was hard for me, and- and I didn’t handle it very well, I know-,”

“Oh, no, don-,” Thor cuts in, not even really thinking, but Loki gently silences him with cool fingers.

“Let me finish,” his brother says, but there’s no anger in it. “I know I didn’t handle the whole thing very well, and I’m sorry I upset you. And Siffy, for that matter. It’s _okay_ , Thor,” he stresses, cupping Thor’s cheek. “You don’t have to pretend it wasn’t upsetting. We both know it was. But we’re stronger than that. We are,” he goes on, eyes shining. “We don’t have to let that asshole win.”

Thor pulls in a slow, deep breath. “You’re right, you know,” he tells his brother.

Loki cocks an eyebrow, smirking. “No, really?”

There’s some wrestling after that, and more slippery, buttery kissing. Thor puts a stop to it about the time it becomes clear one of them is otherwise going to be falling off the counter.

“How about you,” Loki asks, panting a little and wiping his mouth delicately on a crumpled paper napkin. “Are you okay? You probably think I haven’t noticed, with everything going on, but you- you seem a little _off_.”

_Well._

“I feel a little off, yeah,” Thor admits. He takes another deep breath, and another. This is not easy, despite how he’d talked with his therapist earlier. “Watching Odin treat you like that was awful.” He swallows. “And then- I felt like- I didn’t- you were-.” He gives up, finally, blotting a very-much-unwelcome tear on his own shoulder. “When you hurt yourself, I felt like I’d made everything worse by- with- um-.” Nope. He can’t do it. _Fuck._

“With the sex,” Loki offers softly. Thor nods and then looks away, fighting desperately not to start outright bawling. “Shh, sweetie,” Loki soothes, catching a tear with a finger. “Like I said in the hospital, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay,” he says firmly. “ _I’m okay._ ”

Thor manages a little nod. He knows doesn’t dare chance talking further. Not yet, anyway.

Loki reaches out and touches his face again, nudging him gently. “Hey. Look at me.” Thor tries, he does, but he can’t quite. “Go rinse your face,” his brother suggests, “and then how ‘bout you give me a backrub?”


End file.
